


Fridge Magnets and Domestically

by acornandroid



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Losers Club (IT), All the Losers plus Patty, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Holidays, Losers Club christmas party, Losers club new years party, M/M, Marriage Proposal, New Year's Eve, Reddie, Reddie secret santa 2019, there's inside jokes in this fic but I think i wove them in pretty well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22108207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acornandroid/pseuds/acornandroid
Summary: From coffee with his best friend Stanley, to a Christmas party with the Losers, to New Year's Eve and in between, Richie decides that he wants to spend the rest of his life with the uptight little man that has the tendency to sing while cooking in the kitchen.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Comments: 9
Kudos: 153
Collections: Reddie Secret Santa 2019





	Fridge Magnets and Domestically

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chuchukelsey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chuchukelsey/gifts).



> So hi   
> I got Kelso for the Reddie Secret Santa  
> and we have so many inside jokes that its insane.   
> Kelso, my dear Kelso, I HOPE YOU LIKE IT

“Which means _I_ have to help him apparently because he says he has narrow ear canals or some bullshit which is fucking _disgusting,_ but he’s pulled the ‘boyfriend’s do this sort of thing’ card on me twice. I guess it’s fair because he has taken care of me a couple of times when I’ve been-“

“Richie. I want to discontinue this conversation because now I know more about the inner workings of Eddie’s ears than I ever wanted to before- which was nothing. I wanted to know nothing about this subject.” Stan gave a long-suffering sigh, setting the coffee mug down in front of Richie finally.

Saturday mornings at Stanley and Patty’s had become a running theme in the years after Derry. The slow roll of returning memories had kicked off Richie and Stanley’s childhood friendship, but with the stronger adult bonds of fighting off a killer space clown for a second time.

It was almost as if nothing had ever changed- the deep, long discussions about Eddie and how transparent Richie was in his affections. The only difference is the two had actually moved forward in their relationship instead of hiding behind the thick veils of small-town oppression.

This also meant that Saturday morning was now officially the only day of the week where Richie would willingly get up early. Stanley was a natural morning person and had things to do during the day. There was a list to complete, the weekly tradition of dinner with his wife at a new restaurant- or one they were fond of. He had put his foot down early on about Richie being late or showing up at one in the afternoon instead of nine in the morning.

If they were going to be having coffee and chatting, then Stanley wanted to do it at a time appropriate for the beverage.

A few minutes late was acceptable though.

“Okay, find. I’ll stop talking about Eddie’s cute little ears.” Richie made a little bit of a face and picked up the coffee mug finally, taking a sip of it thoughtfully.

Stan actually made good coffee, and he sweetened it to hell and back per Richie’s preference.

Eddie, who had been up and awake when Richie was heading out that morning, was drinking his black piss water like the hellspawn that he was.

God, he loved him.

“Thank you.” Stanley sat down across from him, moving the newspaper out of the way and folding it up. He had gotten ready before Richie had come over, dressed in a soft sweater and his hair falling into more natural curls around his face. Having just washed it that morning and not going into work today meant he could just allow it to dry as it liked. Patty seemed to like it that way anyways.

Before he got the newspaper into its specific location, Richie snatched something out of the pile and pulled it closer.

“What’s with the circled classifieds, Uris? Looking for some questionable interactions—”

Stanley snatched the papers back and folded them up properly, setting them back down on the pile. “No. We have the backyard now, so Patty and I have been talking about getting a chicken coop.”

“Are we sure birds around you all the time is a good idea? I mean, rock whatever fetish you want to, Stan my man, but I don’t think twenty-four seven access to birds is good for any sort of man of your tastes—”

“I can kick you off my property, you know.” Stan said, with no weight behind the words whatsoever. He merely looked at Richie over his glasses and raised a brow. It was hard to fight off the smile when his friend was grinning like an absolute loon.

“Okay. Too early for bird talk, I see. Probably already got your fix with the morning larks and what not.” Richie was bouncing his leg under the table, and Stanley had to steady the surface to stop the mugs from shaking.

“I hate you.” Stan wrinkled his nose, then reached to push his glasses back into place. “You’re going tonight, right?”

“To the Christmas Party that will descend into legend? Of course, I am. Do you remember last year?”

“I’m trying to forget last year. Watching you climb onto the roof was horrifying.”

“Yeah, but you gotta admit at least Eddie’s screaming was funny.”

“Richie. You fell off.”

There was a small hum from the man across the kitchen table as he seemed to actually think back to the year previous.

“Okay. Maybe you have a point- but it was still fun.”

Stanley gave a fond snort, shaking his head and sitting back enough to cross one leg over the other. “Sure. Fun.” He relented as much as he dared, “I’m just saying that Bev and Ben will more than likely block off all roof access and probably set a bar limit.”

“Listen- if they don’t want any of us to get drunk then maybe Ben shouldn’t have designed a _literal_ bar in the house. That’s just asking for it.” Richie gave a laugh, glancing at his phone when it buzzed and scooping it up off the table.

He skimmed the text from Eddie, then pushed his glasses up to pinch at the bridge of his nose before allowing them to fall flat on his face.

“What did he ask you?” Stan ventured, falling back into the simple rhythm of reading his best friend’s subtle expressions.

“To brave a grocery store on Christmas Eve _Eve_ to pick up sugar because apparently _someone_ used the last of it in a failed syrup making attempt last night.”

“It was you, wasn’t it?”

“…Yes. It was me.”

Stanley, deciding that the story would be far more entertaining through Eddie’s eyes, banked his next question of what exactly had occurred for the party later tonight. It would be actually kind of worth it to watch Eddie’s more than likely heavily animated reenactment.

\--

No thanks to the addition of Eddie’s errand, it had taken Richie around two hours to leave from Stan’s, go to the grocery store, and head back to his shared house. It didn’t matter that most of the Losers lived within a ten-mile radius of each other, or that they were fairly close to a shopping plaza. It was the holidays and members of the human race turned into something else entirely.

He unlocked the front door and stepped inside, trying the muscle both the shopping bags and his coat as he did while trying to take his shoes off in the same moment. Richie cursed, nearly tripped, and managed to kick the door shut and right himself in the entryway before taking stock of their home.

It had been such a _decision_ to buy a house. After Eddie’s divorce had finalized and their relationship had settled into what it was, they had tried finally ‘dating’ for a while. It was a semi-long distance, painful sort of thing. Richie’s life and career in California, and Eddie’s newly rented apartment in New York. Completely uprooting his life from what he had known and stepping out on his own was a terrifying concept to his Eddie Spaghetti, but Richie could never be prouder of any human being.

It had taken time (and therapy), but they both became comfortable in their own skin. After everything in Derry both in their child years and adult, it felt like shedding a layer. A snake ridding itself of its old skin and coming into a new one. Shiny and sensitive, needing some time to think and destress as much as physically possible.

Richie and Eddie had talked non-stop. He flew out to see the neurotic risk analysis every chance he got, be it while he was touring or otherwise. Upon the fourth time of Richie staying more than seven days they decided that moving in together would be easier.

They had gotten an apartment first. Richie’s job was the most flexible, and he already did a fair number of shows in the Big Apple. He moved into Eddie’s apartment half a year after they started officially calling each other boyfriends and had loved every maddening minute of it.

Yes, Eddie yelled at him for wearing his shoes in the house, and Richie purposefully fucked up the perfectly organized spices on the goddamn rack in the kitchen in revenge, but it was worth it.

Also, living within the same place made their sex life _so_ much better.

It also meant he got to see little absurd moments. Small things unique to Eddie Kaspbrak—like the way he would do this little shuffle of his feet with the vacuum cleaner as he took care of the carpets, or the way he would always lay his own clothes out in the morning even on his days off.

The way he would cook Richie dinner (because pizza every night was apparently scandalous) and wash his clothes, go grocery shopping with him and argue over the nutritional facts of PopTarts before putting them in the cart anyways.

Richie felt taken care of in a way he never had been before. The scars of an absent family and a time fending for himself in an unforgiving town faded as time passed on. As Eddie fretted and fought, but in a way that was uniquely his and his alone.

While Richie felt sheltered in a safe way, Eddie felt _free_.

He was able to scream and yell and curse- do dumb shit like skid in his socks across the freshly cleaned hardwood flooring and smack directly into his laughing boyfriend as their shared Spotify playlist blasted in the background.

At forty years old he had never felt so young.

Eddie was able to do what he wanted, eat what he wanted (which was still pretty healthy, honestly), say what he wanted without fear of repercussions of any kind. With Richie there to encourage him in his habits and turn the previously bad ones into good.

They balanced each other out in a way that made sense. Safety and serenity, chaos and control bundled into one not-as-fucked-up-as-it-could-have-been package.

When the Losers had all started talking about moving again or being closer to one another. It just made sense that they would buckle down and get a house like real, functioning adults.

It wasn’t like either of them were hurting for money—Richie had more than enough for both of them. Eddie only kept his job because he wasn’t quite sure what else to do. He hadn’t figured himself out in that aspect of his life yet- stuck in one single rut left over from the trenches his life had been.

The prospect of being closer to their family though, in a house with both their names. It felt final- it felt _right_.

It felt _domestic_.

Domestic in the way of slow dancing in the kitchen, cooking dinners, or watching a shitty movie and roasting it over a bottle of wine. Domestic in lazy mornings and lingering kisses, sex in the kitchen and on the couch—maybe in the shower too, or maybe getting a little frisky and going for living room floor sex.

That last one fucked with Richie’s back for a week. It wasn’t going to have a repeat episode anytime soon.

Domestic in the way that Richie could hear the muffled Christmas music echoing from the kitchen.

A small smile crept onto his lips, decidedly quieter now that he wasn’t wearing his boots. Richie adjusted his hold on the reusable grocery bags Eddie insisted on keeping in both cars they owned and made his way further into the house.

That had been another perk about living with Eddie- is knowing that the man still liked to sing and awkwardly dance when he thought he was truly alone. It had been a small habit that Richie had hoped he would never grow out of when they were younger. Countless memories of sneaking into Eddie’s room to hang out when they were just ‘really _really_ good friends’. More than once, he had caught him singing some song and dancing in his room while his mom was off elsewhere, not hovering over him like a sickening shadow.

Moving with more stealth than a cat on the hunt, Richie crept towards the kitchen, peering around the arched entryway and inside.

Having a Christmas party with all of their friends meant that half of the food was being prepared by Ben, and half by Eddie himself, with added in surprises brought by Stan and Patty who were gross enough in their own domesticity to spend their spare time cooking together. They had attempted potlucks before, but no one trusted Bill with anything that was over room temperature and Beverly had the Great Turkey Fiasco of 2017 so it was left up to the ‘responsible’ ones.

Although, Mike bringing desserts from places all over the goddamn country was always acceptable.

Eddie was working on what appeared to be mashed potatoes at the moment, or at least that’s what Richie assumed the tool in his hands was for, along with the potato peels neatly piled on the cutting board to be thrown away.

He watched his boyfriend with an ever-growing grin. Watched the sway of his hips and the subtle slide of his socked feet on the tile. The man was honestly singing _Santa Baby_ of all songs right before his eye and Richie couldn’t bear to look away.

It was a struggle to muffle his laugh.

Eddie’s voice was softer when he sang, like he was still worried about being heard by any offending ears. He wasn’t a _good_ singer by any lengths, but he wasn’t _claw your narrow canaled ears out_ bad either. Eddie rested in a healthy in between- the sort where Richie could listen to him on gentle repeat forever and let his heart turn to pure mush and his insides to jello.

It was also helping that the song he was singing was _overly_ sexual and he was pitching his voice up just barely to match the key unconsciously.

Eddie turned on his foot, picking up the cutting board to go dump it in the trash now that he was done with his mashing—and promptly dropped it with a shout.

“What the _fuck_ , Richard!” He screeched, nearly slipping on the tile (no thanks to those adorable Christmas tree covered socks Richie had bought him on impulse last week) and catching himself against the counter at the last second.

Richie doubled over in laughter, dropping the grocery bags on the floor and trying to catch the breath he suddenly lost.

“ _Fuck_ —shit, Eds—you should have seen your fucking _face_ , oh my god—” Richie started towards him, arms open for an apology hug, but Eddie dodged him as if he were carrying some rare disease.

“Don’t you fucking come near me you _asshole_ —” Eddie ducked away from him, twisting around to go towards the kitchen to undoubtedly grab the broom and dustpan. “You’re a fucking dick- why did you just sneak up on me like that! I could have had a knife! Do you want me to be dead, Rich? Huh? Is that it? I could have had a fucking knife and then I would have fallen on it and been bleeding out in our kitchen right before the _holidays_ —Merry fucking Christmas, dick. Now I’m dead.”

“Good thing I’m Jewish.” Richie commented with dry amusement, as he watched Eddie continue to fuss as he grabbed the cleaning utensils and begin sweeping up the potato skins from around the floor.

Tilting his head, Richie picked up his foot and hovered it over a pile of the shed vegetable skin—

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Eddie said, as if the little goblin could read his mind.

Without much thought or maturity, Richie stuck his foot right down into the damp mess and pressed it against the tile, looking up at his boyfriend and grinning.

The disgusted noise from said boyfriend was worth all the gold in the world. Richie let out a cackling laugh as Eddie promptly raised the broom and gave him a solid whack with it.

“Take your socks off! Right now! That’s _disgusting_ \--!” Eddie smacked him with the broom again, causing Richie to swat at it.

“Stop! You’re getting floor peelies on my jeans!”

“They’re potato skins _you_ made me drop!”

“Well you don’t have to keep hitting me over it! Quit it!”

By the third swing, Richie grabbed the end of the broom and tugged on it. Eddie’s sock covered feet went sliding across the tile and he collided into his boyfriend’s arms. The broom was promptly dropped, and Richie’s arms wound tightly around his waist to keep him from fully slipping.

Also, to pin him tightly against his chest.

“You’re an asshole.” Eddie told him, his feet skidding on the tile a little more before he finally gathered his footing. He pulled a little bit of a face when he too, unfortunately, stepped in the mess of vegetable matter on the floor. “Now I have to change my socks too.”

“Eds. You change your socks if I so much as breathe on them.”

“I did not want this mental image of you breathing on my fucking feet, dude. Nasty.” Eddie pulled a fussy face, but the smile was creeping onto his lips like light streaming in through a window on a summer morning.

Richie did the only reasonable thing a man could do when talking about breathing and socked feet—and leaned down to kiss his perfectly uptight boyfriend while promptly forgetting about anything else.

The way Eddie went compliant in his arms was something he would never be able to get over. The tension radiated off this man in constant waves, a ripple from a large bolder tossed into a small pond that splashed and overfilled, never ending and constant. Yet, when he got his lips onto the tight line of Eddie’s frowning mouth the waters would immediately still.

Eddie, damp socks forgotten, slid his hands up and over Richie’s chest and around his shoulders. He gripped on tightly, tilting his head into the kiss.

It was only right. He hadn’t seen him all morning. Just the brush of a goodbye kiss as he ran off to Stan’s for their weekly meeting.

Maybe Eddie had a tiny bit of separation anxiety.

Or maybe he was just head over heels in love.

After a few measured moments, he pulled back, taking his time with simple pecks and gentle movements of his hands. Rubbing the back of Richie’s neck and smoothing his wild hair back out of his face. Eddie fixed his glasses, tugged on his ear fondly, and dropped his hand back to those broad shoulders. For a moment he just stood there, pleased to simply stare and admire, a soft smile playing at his normally frown marred lips.

Richie looked just as fond, dazed as he usually was after most of their kisses. The ones stolen in romantic moments between the two of them— _just_ the two of them. In their home, on their street, with their friends within close range and radio playing gently in the house. The smells of cooking in the air, and coats and shoes in their proper (or, if you were Richie, improper) places.

Richie with his eyes slow to open and his lips even slower to close. When he did seemingly come to the rest of the way, all he could do was look down at the man before him and wonder, not for the first time, exactly where his life went right.

“You got the sugar, right?” Eddie said, breaking through the spell and patting Richie on the shoulder firmly.

Ah. Yes. The smooth romantic Edward Kaspbrak always living in the moment and never letting his mind stray elsewhere.

Richie snorted, leaning down and pressing his lips to his creased forehead.

“Yessir.” He muttered, “And you fucking _owe_ me. Do you know how many wine moms I had to fight for a single bag of sugar? At least twenty.”

“Mm. Well. I’m not the one that uses a metric fuck ton in my coffee.”

Eddie stepped away from him finally, scooping up the discarded broom and finally properly disposing of the potato skins on the floor. He paused by the trashcan, leaning against the counter and peeling off his socks. In a burst of sudden immaturity, he flung one at Richie, smiling as the man laughed and tried to swat it out of the way.

“Why, Edward! Are _you_ being fucking nasty?” Richie fake gasped, a shit eating grin across his scruffy face.

“You started it.” Eddie peeled off his other sock, then stepped over to grab its twin off of the floor beside his boyfriend.

Only to be swatted on the ass the second he bent down.

Eddie yelped, jumping up and trying to smack back at him.

“Don’t _distract_ me—I have stuff in the oven, and I don’t want a repeat of last year.” He wadded up the socks, trying to edge around Richie without turning his back on him. Once Richie started something like this he didn’t seem to start, he’d be trying to grab his ass the whole rest of the night. “The cookies were literally burned to a fucking crisp.”

“I’m not the one who decided to suddenly give me a blow job.” Richie countered, grinning like a fool and trying to follow him as he skirted the careful line around him.

“Well you kept smacking me on the ass, I had to do something.” Eddie turned to run out of the kitchen, but not before Richie got another swat in.

He darted down to the laundry room, laughing as he went.

Richie shook his head fondly and decided to do the thing an adult would do in his own kitchen and actually put away the shopping he had brought home. Taking the sugar out of the bag and setting it on the counter was a safe decision, since Eddie was more than likely going to use it right away. Everything else, the few small items he had decided to buy on an impulse, went into their designated spots in the kitchen.

The bag of gummy bears, however, remained in Richie’s hand and were promptly ripped open.

He started rifling through what Eddie had been doing, stuffing the little gelatin critters in his mouth as he did. The printed-out recipes were in a neat stack on the counter- all stapled and marked with page flags accordingly. Notes were scribbled into the margins and different parts of the instructions were highlighted. All in true, over prepared, Edward Kaspbrak fashion.

Ingredients were pre-measured, bowls that had already obviously been used were cleaned and stacked in the drying side of the sink to be used again. Eddie had put a lot of thought into it, and his meeting with Ben the week prior to map out all the food for the night had been no joke. Richie had even seen the long list of things he had made, stuck with a framed magnet picture of the pair of them on the fridge.

The picture of the pair of them on New Year’s Eve the year previous. Richie smacking a kiss against Eddie’s cheek, the pair of them wearing the ridiculous hats that Mike had brought and holding the plastic champagne glasses Bill had invested in after the Thanksgiving fiasco.

Beverly had snapped the picture, and Stan was the one who had printed it out and handed it to Patty- who had been on a bit of a binge of handmaking gifts lately. She had stuck it on the magnate and done the same to pictures of the other Losers together. Sealing them forever in a snapshot, modge podge’d and stuck on a wooden block.

Eddie had teared up when he opened it but brushed it off as something in his eye.

Only Richie knew what an actual sap he was.

Reaching out, Richie adjusted the picture just a little, which was now holding up their tickets to Avenue Q in a week’s time.

If someone had told him thirty years ago that he would be getting sentimental about fridge magnaets Richie would have been able to give them a list of drugs they were on for sounding so crazy.

Yet here he was, a refrigerator collage of a happy recent past pinning physical reminders of a bright future to its metal surface. 

He popped another gummy bear in his mouth, rolling it between his front teeth and pushing at it with his tongue before committing to eating it. That was enough sappiness for the moment. Crossing the kitchen again, he opened one of the pots on the stove and reached to stick his finger into the gravy.

“Don’t you fucking dare—” Eddie snapped from the doorway, appearing now with a fresh pair of socks and the echoing sound of the washer started down the hall.

God, he was so domestic sometimes that Richie was certain his heart would explode.

The man was his emotional refrigerator moment personified.

“Aw c’mon—” Richie protested, picking up the lid and placing it back slowly anyways.

“First of all, that is a literally _boiling_ pot you were going to stick your finger in, dumbass. Second of all- use a spoon like a capable human being.” Eddie moved up to him, his hand resting against Richie’s hip as he leaned around him to grab a spoon out of the drawer, holding it up to him. “If you eat straight gravy at the party, I will end you.”

“…What about at home though?”

“There’s already a Tupperware of it in the fridge.”

“God. You’re fucking perfect.”

\--

“Nah, Eddie won’t go within a twenty-mile radius of LA since those City Hall rats had typhus.” Richie said, standing across from Beverly and Stan, taking a drink of the champagne that had been magically appearing on the counter of the Hanscom household the entire night.

Ben sure knew how to entertain. The champagne was _nice_ , and it wasn’t Richie’s normal drink of choice.

“I thought he went to your last show there though.” Beverly said, looking the picture of human perfection in soft blue pants and a hideous sweater covered in snowmen and bells.

“Yeah. That show was Pre-Typhus. We’re in a Post-Typhus world, Bev.” Richie gave a snort of a laugh, looking over the shoulder of his friends to spot his boyfriend laughing with Bill across the room. They had some sort of project spread out in front of them, building a miniature version of some sort of airplane.

It was sweet—after Derry and getting their memories back, everyone had fallen into old habits once more. Eddie was particularly fond of helping Bill fix up his bike back in the day, and the two had taken to building small models of various cars, boats, and planes at most Losers (plus Patty) Only functions.

Eddie was wiping his hands thoughtfully on his napkin before taking another bite from the paper plate filled with a mixture of dinner and dessert.

Bill, true to his disastrous self, grabbed his napkin with modeling glue on his fingers, and had to spend the next five minutes with Mike helping detach him from the paper, Eddie laughing the entire time.

“Plus, it gives me time anyways.” Richie let his gaze wander back to his friends, smiling a little more and letting the rim of the crystal glass rest against his lips.

“Time for what?” Beverly rose to the bait, moving to cross her arms and making the bells on her sweater jingle.

Richie raised both his eyebrows and gave a vague gesture. “You know—” He started miming pushing something onto the ring finger of his left hand, then twisting it around.

“Having sex?” Stan said, dryly, which earned a barking laugh out of him in no time flat.

“Already got that in the bag, Stanny.” Richie said, shooting a glance over again to make sure Eddie wasn’t looking. Sometimes Eddie was too scary smart for his own good, and this was the only thing Richie had managed to keep a secret this long. “I’m gonna— _you know_ —”

Beverly gave a quiet gasp when she clued in, immediately making a face as she tried to hold in a squeal. “Are you actually gonna do it?” She asked, keeping her voice down.

“When have I never not done anything?” Richie made a little bit of a face and held up his hand when Stanley opened his mouth. “Don’t answer that.”

“I was going to say that you can be a bit spontaneous and reckless.” Stan reasoned, looking over when Patty finally joined their little group. He lifted his arm and settled it around her naturally, his entire demeanor softening in a way that made Richie’s heart to a little bit of a backflip for his best friend.

“Yeah, well, we’ve talked about it—”

“Did you _actually_?” Bev countered, raising her brow.

“Yes, thank you. He mentioned wishing he could do it again and, well, we’re the ones dating so…” He glanced over at Patty as she brightened, picking up on what was happening immediately.

“If you want help with invitations, I can get you some from work.” Patty said, perfectly content to press a little more into her husband’s side.

“I haven’t even _asked_ Eddie yet. You’re all animals.”

“What are you asking me?”

The entire group froze, and Richie let his gaze drift over to Eddie who had materialized on his left. He gave him a dopy smile, trying to cover it up immediately.

“If you’ll go to the after party in a really seedy part of LA next week. I mean- I’ll have to fly you out last minute which will probably mean coach and more than likely middle seat—”

“Oh _fuck_ no.”

When Eddie launched into his rant on the unsanitary conditions of airports, Richie knew his derailment had worked in his favor.

\--

Richie had Eddie’s old wedding band in his pocket as he entered the jewelry store.

It had been a crazy idea when he had done it, but now it was all making sense in the long run.

After Derry- after Eddie had recovered and grew a pair enough to stand up to his Mom-Wife and get a divorce, Richie had watched him pitch the wedding ring across the parking lot of the hotel the second he hung up on Myra’s call.

He had driven down to New York and gotten Eddie a hotel room there without question, both of them falling into what they should have a long time ago. With the divorce officially started and Eddie ready for a new chapter, he had decided that Richie Tozier would be on the first page.

All over the first page.

In explicit, age restricted content.

It had been one of the happiest moments of his life.

So, after Eddie had fallen asleep, drained mentally in both the worst way from a taxing conversation with an insane woman, and physically in the _best_ way possible, Richie had snuck out.

It had taken him a solid hour, and he had about twenty different excuses made up for if Eddie woke up without him, but he had eventually found the ring under the tire of an SUV.

Sure, it was crazy. Richie was crazy and insane and had the pinprick of crippling self-doubt that him and Eddie wouldn’t last long enough for anything to come of this.

But, maybe one day, he would need Eddie’s ring size.

\--

Richie got back from LA with the weight of the world in his pocket.

His show had been a day after Christmas, and it had gone spectacularly.

Jewelers’ had sales going on galore, but he would buy Eddie a thirty-karat diamond if that was what he wanted. Money wasn’t an issue.

But Eddie wouldn’t want a thirty-karat diamond. His Eddie was simple, and classy, in a stuffy yet soft sort of way. The man who thought polo shirts were as acceptable as t-shirts in the form of casual wear. The man who wore dress shoes with jeans like some kind of weirdo, no matter how many comfortable pairs of sneakers Richie bought him.

The band itself was simple. Tungsten, with a rose gold boarder. When he saw it, he knew it would sit perfectly on Eddie’s finger. The right amount of flashy for a risk analyst from New York, saying ‘engagement’ in just the right way.

While he knew in his heart that Eddie would be avidly against any sort of public proposal, he also knew that this was a moment that he wanted to share with his family.

So, he waited until New Year’s Eve. The Loser’s tradition of gathering together in their pajamas, sitting in the living room and watching movies, or Times Square, or playing videogames. Anything and everything in between, as long as they were all together.

A bunch of grown adults, sitting cross legged in a mess of blankets and pillows or sprawled out spectacularly on the sofa in Richie and Eddie’s living room. All of them the picture of comfort and affection in the way they held one another, or shared blankets- drinks and snacks in true sleep over fashion.

Patty was a welcomed addition, her legs up in Stanley’s lap and the bowl of popcorn resting on her stomach as they watched the live musical performance that only Ben knew on the screen. Mike must have said something—because she laughed happily and threw a handful of popcorn at him, causing Eddie to fuss and Bill to nearly trip over literally nothing on his way back from the kitchen with a cup of tea.

They were all joyous, chatting and joking in a way that made Richie’s heart ache in the best of ways. All the sound around him muffled, hard to focus on with the weight of the box in the pocket of his sweatpants.

Eddie had picked up most of the popcorn in his hands off the floor, dropping it onto a napkin and bunching it up. He protested, loudly and profanely, when Stanley grabbed a piece of popcorn from the bowl and stuck it in his hair.

“I’m not much safer.” Richie laughed, his mind coming to as Eddie pressed into his side before all but climbing over his lap to put a careful distance between him and the fiends with the popped snack and good aim.

Eddie wrinkled up his nose, that forever frown framing his lips and wrinkling his forehead.

Richie leaned in, pressing his lips to the creased lines and wrapping his arms tightly around him.

“If you put any sort of food in my hair you’re sleeping on the couch.” Eddie muttered, trying to shake out any left-over snacks from the top of his head.

Richie reached up, carding his fingers through his hair affectionately to do it for him. “We’re all sleeping on the couch tonight, Eds.”

“…Yeah. Whatever.”

They fell into a comfortable silence. Well, as much of a silence as it could be with Ben singing aloud and making Beverly’s arms dance as she sat in his lap. Mike with his head resting against Bill’s legs now that he was safely seated, talking about something in their hushed voices and gentle smiles. Patty, trying to move her feet out of the way as Stan grabbed at her toes in revenge for something she said- his best friend looking lighter than he had ever seen him.

“…you alright?” Eddie’s voice drew him out of his thoughts slowly, causing Richie to look down.

He wanted to freeze him in that moment—face soft and lit by the lights of the television. Casting blue, soft shadows over his features, flickering in and out with shifts of color that brought out the deep brow of his eyes and the gentle line of his mouth.

“…Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine, Spaghetti.” Richie murmured, though his boyfriend didn’t seem all that convinced. His face creased a little more in worry—but there were little forces on heaven or earth that could stop Edward Kaspbrak from worrying.

“You’ve just been quiet is all. It’s not really like you.”

“Well, I got a lot to think about.”

“You’re actually thinking? That’s a new one.”

Eddie was smiling in that proud little way where he thought he got a good remark in. Richie laughed, leaning in and giving him a small kiss before blowing a raspberry against the puckered scar on his cheek.

The smile immediately vanished as Eddie flailed, reaching up and shoving at Richie’s face before wiping his cheek with his shoulder.

“Fuck you, man! What the hell—now I’ve got your _spit_ on my _face_ —”

“Not the worst place you’ve had it.”

The smack that one earned him was well deserved. Richie laughed, wrestling to grab Eddie’s wrists and pull him a little more into his lap instead. He went with the ease of their relationship, falling into Richie and relaxing once more.

For as uptight as he was, Richie knew just what buttons to push to get him to unwind.

He looked back to the TV, his chin resting over Eddie’s shoulder and his arms wrapped around him loosely.

This was what he wanted. This was his forever.

The way Eddie just _fit_ in his lap was unreal. Everything about Eddie was unreal, from his flaws to his perfections.

His plan was to propose at midnight- It was sappy and romantic, and he was guaranteed a kiss out of it regardless.

But as the clock stuck 10:42 Richie couldn’t help himself.

Eddie sat in his arms, giving him a dead leg that he was comfortable with only because it was _Eddie_. Idly patterns being traced against the back of Richie’s hand, the soft rumble of his voice vibrating back against his chest as he shouted something back at Bill that Richie didn’t entirely care to listen to. He was far too wrapped up in his own mind, in the physical moment to pay attention to anything else.

With the chatter around him and the pounding of his heart, Richie sucked in a deep breath.

“Hey!”

The entire room went quiet, save for the announcement of whatever band was playing next on the TV. Everyone turned to look at him, silent and confused.

Save for Eddie, who had jumped about ten feet in the air in Richie’s lap and immediately yanked away.

“Fucking Christ, Richie! You’re gonna make me go deaf what the hell—” He said, pulling at his ear- which Richie had, in fact, just yelled next to.

“Ah—nah ah ah—” Richie held up a finger immediately, sticking it to Eddie’s lips for a whole of two seconds before it got smacked away. “No ranting- Marry me.”

“Did you finally lose your fucking mind? I know you’re a crazy person but what the fuck are you even doing—” Eddie’s words dropped off immediately, and he stared at Richie. The motion of gears clicking into place played out on his expression, his eyes blinking rapidly. “Wait.”

“I thought you were doing this at midnight.” Stanley said, calmly, staring at the scene that was unfolding. Patty reached over and pushed at him.

“ _Stan_.”

“What? That was his plan.” He gave a small shrug.

“Okay— shut up, Stan. It was a plan, okay? And a surprise and you just ruined it—and plans change.”

“I didn’t ruin anything you just blurted out ‘marry me’ before I said anything.” Stanley gave a snort, but he was obviously hiding a smile, “Like an idiot.”

“Wait.” Eddie repeated, dumbly.

“Just because I blurted out that I want Eddie to marry me doesn’t mean it wasn’t a surprise!” Richie continued on, turning to look at his best friend instead.

“Well if anyone ruined the surprise it was yourself because you did it before it was a _surprise._ ” Stan reasoned.

“He’s got a point.” Beverly chimed in.

“Whose side are you _on_?” Richie rounded on her immediately, his arms back around Eddie.

Eddie who was back seated in his lap, was staring at Richie and nothing else.

“Wait.”

“My own, obviously.” Bev made a bit of a face.

“Hey-“ Ben protested.

“Sorry—mine, and Ben’s occasionally.”

“Wait.”

“This is bullshit- It was a surprise until Stanley said it was surprise. Then that no longer makes it a surprise!”

“It no longer makes it a surprise when you ruin your own surprise.” Stanley kept going.

“Yes.”

“Fuck you, Stan—” Richie froze, realizing that Eddie had just spoke once again. He looked over at his boyfriend, studying his face and suddenly grabbing his shoulders. “What did you say?”

Eddie, who now looked cool as a cucumber, simply gave a shrug. “I said yes.”

“Well don’t sound too fucking excited about it—”

“Dude- you’re arguing over whether you proposing to me was a surprise or not! Are you mad I’m saying _yes_?”

“No! Obviously not! I just thought there would be tears and shit—”

“I didn’t expect to get proposed to like _this_ — I thought you were gonna be more stupid about it.”

“What the fuck does _that_ even mean?”

Eddie made a face a rolled his eyes before giving a sudden laugh. “It means I pay the bills, stupid.” He told him.

“What does that have to do with me proposing??”

“You think I don’t notice a massive charge on your card when you went to LA? At a _jewelry store_ , Richie. I’m not an idiot. I almost called them for fraud but you’re lucky Bev was here.”

Richie rounded on Beverly so quickly that Eddie nearly fell out of his lap if it weren’t for the hold he had on Richie’s arm. “You _knew_ that he knew!”

Beverly just shrugged again. “It was a surprise.”

“Okay—we’re all done arguing that this was a surprise. Wow I’m fucking surprised—now give me the fucking ring.” Eddie tried to dig for the pockets of Richie’s sweats.

“Woah— _woah_ —careful, you fucking little shit that is _so_ close to my dick—”

Richie finally gave a laugh, managing to bat Eddie’s hands out of the way so he could pull the ring box out himself. He looked over at him, taking a deep breath and opening it up.

Despite the craziness of the moment, the expression across Eddie’s face went right to his heart. Richie swallowed hard as Eddie’s eyes began to glisten, taking the simple band out carefully and reaching to slide it onto his finger.

Eddie’s hand shook just slightly within his own, but now he could tell it was for the best of reasons.

Leaning forward, Richie cupped his cheek, pressing his thumb lightly over the scar and sealing his lips over his _fiancé’s._ Eddie pushed back into the kiss, surrounded by the chorus of cheers from their friends. He pressed just a little firmer, a little more insistently—it didn’t matter that anyone else was looking. This was _Eddie_.

The man that he was going to marry.

“Get a room.” Stan’s voice broke through, causing everyone else to laugh.

Richie smiled against Eddie’s lips, and flipped Stanley off over his shoulder.

There was the sound of a phone camera.

\--

Richie wandered into the kitchen after getting home that afternoon.

He grabbed a glass from the cupboard.

“Hey—I need you to call the tux place back. They had questions about your measurements.” Eddie’s voice rang from down the hallway instead of a greeting. He had been all wedding business and nothing else basically since their engagement.

“Do the pants not have enough room for my dick? I knew that would be a problem.” Richie called back, talking the glass to the fridge to fill it up with water. “Also- nice to see you too, babe. I missed you. How was your day?”

“Fuck you.”

Richie laughed quietly, looking at the fridge surface before him as he waited for his glass to fill.

A photo magnet sat there, the pair of them kissing on New Year’s Eve. Richie flipping the bird and the engagement ring sitting proudly on Eddie’s finger. It held up a copy of their save the date.

Richie smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> My twitter is @acornandroid if anyone is interested


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